The southern literary messenger, Vol. I., No. 1, August, 1834

In Short

This volume marks the birth of the Southern Literary Messenger, a publication designed to cultivate a distinctively Southern voice in American letters. It gathers a variety of essays, stories, poems, and reviews, serving as a platform for regional writers to escape the "mental repose" often attributed to their climate. By blending moral instruction with romantic storytelling and rigorous critical analysis, the magazine seeks to elevate public taste and prove that the American South—long known for its political prowess—possesses the artistic genius to compete on the national stage.

The Story

The narrative arc of this first issue is one of movement—both physical and intellectual. It opens with the publisher’s declaration of purpose, inviting the "miser," the "prodigal," and the "man of fortune" to support a new era of regional literary effort. This call to action is immediately tested by a journal entry documenting a sea voyage from New York to France. The narrator, a gentleman of literary and scientific focus, describes the tedious reality of waiting for winds that refuse to blow, the mundane disappointment of a ship being a "dirty prison," and the eventual arrival at the dramatic cliffs of the French coast.

The scope then widens into the philosophical and the historical. An essay on "The Mother of Washington" pivots toward the importance of eloquence, arguing that true oratory is not merely a product of study but an emotional response to history—citing everyone from Demosthenes to Mirabeau. This leads to a meditation on the American Revolution, where the author mourns how easily the sacrifices of the "modern Curtii"—the rich men who staked their fortunes on liberty—have been forgotten in the quiet of the modern age.

The issue’s heart lies in its fiction and moral narratives. In "Love and Authorship," we follow Theodore, a young man who stakes his future on a play, only to have his hopes crushed by a cynical press. Though he initially believes he has lost his beloved Rosalie to a wealthy suitor, the story navigates the anxieties of ambition and the pain of perceived abandonment. Simultaneously, the issue presents the "Patriarch," a story set in rural North Carolina. Here, a minister of the gospel observes a community defined by "domestic order, economy, and concord." The climax of this section is the death of the aging patriarch, whose passing does not result in chaos, but in the seamless passing of the "mantle" to his son, a scene of quiet, spiritual continuity.

The issue concludes with a metaphorical dialogue between Memory and Hope. Having traveled the earth together, they find themselves in a landscape that seems diminished by age. An old man, having lost his youth, his wealth, and his family, teaches them that earthly things are fleeting. He offers them one final resolve: the "hope of heaven." Reconciled, Memory and Hope embrace, deciding to walk hand-in-hand through the world, suggesting that neither the past nor the future can sustain a soul alone.

How It Unfolds

The publisher’s appeal The issue begins by soliciting patronage from the "Old Dominion," arguing that literary exertion is the necessary next step for a region already distinguished in politics. Eminent writers like Washington Irving and J. K. Paulding offer their support, encouraging Southern men of leisure to turn their attention toward the arts.

The sea voyage A traveler chronicles his journey across the Atlantic, debunking the romantic myths of ocean life. He finds the experience a test of patience, characterized by monotonous days of waiting and the unglamorous realities of confinement on a ship.

The call for eloquence The focus shifts to the nature of public speech, drawing parallels between the great orators of antiquity and the modern political figures of France and Britain. This essay serves as an argument that the American spirit requires a voice as powerful as its revolutionary history.

The romantic trial The story of Theodore provides a cautionary look at the life of an author, where success is fickle and reputations are subject to the caprice of critics. The narrative tests the strength of a promise made between two lovers in the face of sudden, professional misfortune.

The rural ideal A pastoral account of a religious community in North Carolina presents a vision of life rooted in simplicity and moral duty. The death of the community’s patriarch serves as the moral anchor for the entire issue, emphasizing legacy over material gain.

The final reconciliation The volume closes with an allegorical debate where the personifications of Memory and Hope learn the limits of their individual influence. They resolve their conflict through the wisdom of age, choosing to remain united to navigate the uncertainties of human existence.

The People

Theodore, the protagonist of "Love and Authorship," is a young, ambitious writer who seeks to win his bride, Rosalie, through his intellectual success. His vulnerability lies in his reliance on public approval, which proves to be his undoing when the critics tear his work apart. Rosalie exists primarily as the object of his devotion; she represents the domestic stability he hopes to achieve, though her own agency remains caught between her uncle’s wishes and her fidelity to Theodore.

The "Patriarch," a quiet, white-haired figure in a North Carolina forest sanctuary, embodies the ideal of early American morality. He stands in contrast to the worldly, ambitious figures in the magazine's literary essays. His death is not a tragedy, but a transition; his son, the "lay-reader," inherits his authority, demonstrating a natural, inherited social order that the author views as noble and essential.

Memory and Hope are the final central figures, appearing as symbolic travelers. Memory is prone to bitterness as she sees the world change and fade, while Hope is often deceived by the future. Through their journey and their interaction with the "old man" at the end of the issue, they are transformed from separate, sometimes conflicting forces into a unified pair, representing the balance required to endure the losses of life.

In Its Own Voice

Describing the harsh reality of his ocean crossing, the narrator rejects the poetic embellishments of sea travel:

For my own part, I can give no better idea of my opinion of a ship, than by quoting a definition of one, which struck me as peculiarly felicitous--viz. "a dirty prison with a good chance of being drowned."

Reflecting on the nature of the American Revolution, the author laments the loss of historical memory:

The danger is now past--the mighty guerdon won--the storm is gone over, and the sun beams brightly: but though bright our day, it was then a dark unknown--dark as the hidden path beyond the grave.

The lay-reader comforts the congregation following the patriarch's death:

Ere I had attempted consolation, the lay-reader with an unfaltering tone pronounced, "the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away: blessed be the name of the Lord."

What It's Really About

The central argument of this collection is that a society is defined by its ability to cultivate a refined, moral, and intellectual life. The authors grapple with the tension between the "luxury" of the South and the necessity of "literary exertion." They ask whether a region that has succeeded in the arena of politics can successfully pivot to the arts without losing its soul. The pieces collectively express a deep anxiety about the transience of human achievement—whether it be the fame of an orator, the success of a playwright, or the beauty of a landscape—and conclude that only a devotion to higher, spiritual values can reconcile the painful, inevitable changes brought by time.

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in the foundation of American intellectual history will find this volume deeply rewarding. It provides a rare, unmediated look at the aspirations of a specific time and place, documenting the moment when the Southern intelligentsia began to consciously build a cultural identity. The prose is earnest, sometimes heavy with the period's preference for moralizing, yet it captures a genuine, restless desire for self-improvement and artistic recognition.

Modern readers might struggle with the magazine’s formal, often didactic tone and its occasionally flowery language, which reflects the elevated literary standards of the 1830s. The attitudes toward labor, class, and "proper" societal roles are starkly period-specific, offering a clear reflection of the social structures of the era. However, the themes remain surprisingly resonant: the anxiety of the artist, the fear of being forgotten, and the human search for balance between the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future. It is a quiet, contemplative read that rewards those who enjoy seeing the raw, foundational efforts behind what we now call a literary tradition. It feels like stepping into a parlor in 1834, where the air is thick with the ambition of a young nation trying to find its voice.